Open letter to the rock-thrower

Dear kid that threw a rock at my car on an S-curve causing a fury of emotions – including fury,

Are you OK? I mean, here I was MINDING MY OWN BUSINESS when I came upon you either A) playing the real life version of Frogger B) wandering aimlessly after four days in the desert and had no idea where you were in a delusional dehydration daze or C) being an utter tool. And not a useful tool – like a hammer – a worthless tool that actually does more damage to what you’re building, like a hammer made of taffy with a constantly slicing saw sticking out of the handle.

Isn’t it time you stopped with all this fresh air and did something productive, like play eight consecutive hours of Halo? With your rock-throwing accuracy, those aliens stand no chance with a Magnetic Accelerator Cannon in your virtual hands.

I understand these are troubled economic times and the cost of quality entertainment is hard to come by, particularly if you don’t have access to Netflix and because you’re too young and stupid. However, I’m having a difficult time believing you don’t have other options than tossing rocks at cars – specifically, mine. Perhaps rolling a hoop down a road with a stick? Breakdance? I don’t know what your age group does now. If you need suggestions, might I suggest a course on auto body repair?

Let me break this down for you; throwing rocks at cars is dangerous, particularly if the targeted motorist is a ninja. Now I’m not a ninja, however you didn’t know that. You could’ve been ninjaed six times, so consider yourself lucky.

Was it something about my car that prompted the throw? At 9-years-old or whatever annoying age you are, have you already developed such disdain for Ford Motor Company that you are compelled to act-out by flinging pieces of solidified earth? Perhaps your rage manifested out of jealousy, which I can understand given how incredibly awesome my car is compared to your primary mode of transportation (spindly little giraffe legs). You can forget about a ride now.

Perhaps it was my attentive, speed-limit-abiding automobile skills that enraged you. Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll be soon dumbly cruising around in an awful vehicle of your own, mullet waving freely in the breeze and farmer’s tan shining gloriously on the one arm you stick out of the window; that is, before your license is suspended, likely for being a lunatic. I’m not sure that’s, technically, a crime, but I’m sure you’ll no doubt test that theory.

Seriously, who throws rocks?

It’s quite amazing how quickly my attitude towards you changed. I went from “These boys better get out of the road they could get hurt” to “Oh, it’s on now, youths!”

I admit it; you caught me at a disadvantage. I did not expect your highway assault and was unprepared with how to handle the situation. I slowed down dramatically while craning my neck back in hopes you saw me snarl and look as threatening as I could with two car seats in the back. I couldn’t stop due to other cars behind me and a wife giving me a look that said, “Please do not stop the car in the middle of the highway and yell at kids.” But mostly the cars behind me thing. Stopping there would be rude to the other motorists. I don’t expect you to understand.

Instead, I employed the tactic of strangling the steering wheel and grumbling expletives while continually looking in my rear-view mirror so I could hate on you getting smaller and smaller (though my rage did the opposite).

“Let it go,” my wife said 30 seconds after the incident, like this was something possible.

“What if somebody threw a rock at your sewing machine or mop or child or whatever?” I replied. “Would you just ‘let it go’ then?”

This earned me a look, but I pressed on.

“Somebody needs to teach them a lesson. But not ME I guess. OH NO. Let’s just let them continue to be morons, grow up and marry another moron and have little moron babies that grow up and continue to throw rocks at our hybrid electric flying machines.”

“Wow.”

I thought in a relationship your partner is supposed to support you in all things, even if that included threatening adolescents. I guess that pastor was full of it.

To the non-rock-throwing-accomplice, don’t think I forgot about you. As far as I’m concerned, you’re idiot by association. I’ll deal with you later.

Never mind that I can’t exactly find the damage your rock caused. I know it’s there.

Pull your pants up.

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Kelly Van De Walle is the senior creative writer for Briscoe14 Communications (www.briscoe14.com). He can be reached at vandkel@hotmail.com or via check reimbursed for his suffering of the above incident. Follow him on Twitter @pancake_bunny but only if you promise not to throw things. Or if you insist on throwing things, have it be paper airplanes made out of $100 bills. Stupid kids.